I used wood-wax on something this weekend, and the smell of it reminded me of my Dad.
When I was little, he would stand me on his work-bench on a Sunday morning, my little feet in his big shoes while he polished them for church.
These kinds of memories keep coming up for me lately, about my dad’s influence on me as I was growing up.
When my partner and I moved into this house a few weeks ago, we had to assemble a lot of furniture. Tightening screws, I was frequently reminded of his lessons about tightening them evenly, each a little bit, rather than screwing one down at a time.
Lots of things like that — tiny lessons that are so ingrained, and still useful.
I love my dad.
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